


turn around and make it all right

by archers_and_spies



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel
Genre: Beaches, Divorce, F/M, Fights, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff and Angst, Lighthouses, Marriage Proposal, POV Alternating, Song: Back to December (Taylor Swift), Sunsets, Travelling to Exotic Places, Undercover, Weddings, plus a sprinkle of clintasha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:41:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26141269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archers_and_spies/pseuds/archers_and_spies
Summary: "It's always been a roller coaster. Fast out of the gate, then hit the drop, the turn, the loop... the screeching halt. Then, back in line to do it all over again.""But is the ride worth it?""I'll let you know when it's over."——How Bobbi Morse and Lance Hunter fellinout of love.
Relationships: Lance Hunter/Bobbi Morse
Comments: 13
Kudos: 18





	turn around and make it all right

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stvckys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stvckys/gifts).



> hihihi!! school starts in less than a week so i wanted to throw this out into the world as fast as i could (plus ariel kept pressuring me 🤠 ) now as much as i love these two characters (and i love them to DEATH) be warned that they both have their fair share of hurting and being hurt. i tried my best to include as many easter eggs that are referenced in the show (plus [my own fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22690567) because i'm narcissistic like that) as possible, but if you spot a plot hole, no you didn't ❤️ i am doing my best. honestly, i learned so much more about these two, especially their flaws, and it was so fun to explore how these two colourful personalities could seem nice next to each other at first but then clash so horribly when mixed together. so now, without further ado, my Problematic Huntingbird Divorce Fic™ !!

> A lot of people ask me what my biggest fear is, or what scares me most. And I know they expect an answer like heights, or closed spaces, or people dressed like animals, but how do I tell them that when I was 17 I took a class called Relationships For Life and I learned that most people fall out of love for the same reasons they fell in it. That their lover’s once endearing stubbornness has now become refusal to compromise and their one track mind is now immaturity and their bad habits that you once adored is now money down the drain. Their spontaneity becomes reckless and irresponsible and their feet up on your dash is no longer sexy, just another distraction in your busy life.  
>  Nothing saddens and scares me like the thought that I can become ugly to someone who once thought all the stars were in my eyes.

_  
[(Taylor Myers, Tumblr. 2016.)](https://acutelesbian.tumblr.com/post/54995189883/a-lot-of-people-ask-me-what-my-biggest-fear-is-or)  
_

**march**

“What can I get you?”

Hunter looks up from where he’d been drumming his fingers on the small circular glass table. The blonde waitress looks at him expectantly, her pen poised against her notepad.

“Uh… hot… coffee?” He says after an uncomfortable length of silence. He’d only been trying to find a place to sit down. He’d had no idea this was a restaurant. He looks to his left and finds a glass window—ah, of course, he’s in the _outdoors_ part of the restaurant. He’s never really understood that—

“Will that be all?” The waitress looks unimpressed. 

“I don’t really—I’m not from around here. Do people from North Carolina order coffee, and just coffee?”

Just then, she appears to see something happen behind him. Her eyes widen for a split-second, and before he can turn around to look, she screams, “Get down!” and dives under the table, pulling him with her. Several gunshots follow and people start running and screaming.

Under the table, Hunter and the waitress pull out a gun at the same time and cock them in sync.

“Where did you get that?” She whispers fiercely.

“Says you, Miss blonde-hair-in-a-bun! For the record, I work for intelligence.”

She stares, mouth slightly open. “So do I.”

“Ah, a _spy_. Always didn’t like the espionage department—”

“Shut up. Get everyone out of here, and don’t interfere; it’s my mission.” She peeks out a little over the table, fires a few shots, and ducks back down. “And _for the record_... espionage isn’t all I do.”

Hunter watches as she stands up boldly. The shooter, a man in a black mask, starts backing up into the kitchen as she shoots right back at him, somehow simultaneously dodging all the bullets fired her way. 

While she takes the fight further in, the people inside are already scrambling to run out, and all Hunter has to do is calm them down enough and direct them through the door one by one so that they don’t trip over each other. Fortunately, there aren’t a lot of people—the sun hasn’t even gone down yet—and after he’s done getting everyone out, he goes back inside where crashes and other sounds of fighting are coming from.

There’s a man with his back to him in the kitchen doorway, gun poised to shoot. Without thinking, Hunter takes a metal tray from the counter and slams it over his head. He collapses to the floor, and from where his gun had been aimed, the blonde waitress, with some kind of fierce glint in her eye, turns around shocked. She surveys him holding the tray and the man lying motionless.

“I knew he was there,” she says.

“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” Hunter says. “So, what’s the mission? Obtaining intel? Target elimination?”

“Retrieving an object.” She tells him, lifting up a briefcase by the arm to show him, and that’s when he notices the masked shooter from earlier that she’d left slumped in the corner behind her start getting back up from the floor.

Before he opens his mouth to warn her, she brings her arm carrying the briefcase backwards and elbows the man in the face. Hunter freezes in shock and starts thinking maybe she actually never needed saving from the man with the handgun.

“And that is mission accomplished,” she says, walking out of the kitchen. Hunter follows her to the pier outside of the restaurant, where she stands on the wooden boards and checks her watch.

“Huh. I’m half an hour early.”

“Huh,” Hunter echoes.

She turns her head at him and frowns, as if she’s just noticing he’s there. “Why are you here?”

“Well, you said you were early,” shrugs Hunter. “Can’t have you standing on this pier alone for thirty minutes.”

Her eyes narrow. “I can handle myself, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“No, I know. Trust me,” he laughs, “I know. It’s more like… watching the sun set over the sea alone seems rather melodramatic and sad.” He crouches down and sits at the edge of the pier, legs dangling over the salty water.

“Suit yourself,” she sighs, sinking down beside him. “You’ll have to be gone when they arrive, though.”

“I’m Hunter,” he blurts out. “Lance Hunter, but everyone calls me Hunter.”

She smiles, actually smiles. “Nice try. I’m not giving you my name. Gosh, whatever organisation you work for must be ratted out, like, every other day.”

Hunter’s about to answer with something defensive when she pulls the pins out of her hair and lets it down, golden waves painted orange by the sunset falling all the way past her shoulders. His breath catches.

“Hey, you wanna—you look—” He stops, because there’s really no way to describe how she does look. Beautiful, gorgeous, even angelic doesn’t cut it. She raises an eyebrow in a silent question, and he settles with a feeble “I can help you take a picture.”

She looks like she’s about to say no when she shakes her head and reaches into a pocket. “You promise you won’t steal this and run away with it?”

He takes the phone and tries swiping a few times. “Hang on, I think the camera isn’t working—you’re gonna have to unlock it.”

“Ugh.” She takes the phone, types in her password which takes up the better part of a minute, and hands it back. 

“Alright. Smile,” Hunter says, and snaps a picture of her wearing a half-hearted smile. He then encounters even more technical problems, but manages to return the phone before she gets too suspicious.

“Thanks,” she says, her hand going to rest casually on his shoulder. He freezes and nearly stops breathing, but then there’s a stinging sensation on his neck and he brings his hand up to slap it.

“Damn bugs,” he curses, then curses internally some more when her hand leaves her shoulder as she’s startled. “Winter just ended; shouldn’t they all still be sleeping or just dead?”

“That was… okay. You’ve got, like, a mediocre sense of humour,” she remarks.

“Pardon me?” Hunter asks, offended.

“Don’t get me wrong, mediocre’s already quite good for a man, which is why I’m sorry I had to do that.”

Her hand on his shoulder. The _stinging_.

“Don’t worry, Hunter, you’re gonna wake up just fine.”

“I’m more offended than worried, honestly,” he says, already beginning to feel the effects kick in. His eyelids start to droop and he feels his face hit the wooden boards of the pier, the sounds of waves crashing against rocks under him, but all he can think of is how clever she is.

——

After she’s safely boarded the yacht, Bobbi unlocks her phone with the pure intent to delete the picture Hunter took. The whole time she’d been entertaining him, she’d actually only been waiting for a window to inject the sleepy-juice (as Hartley likes to call it) into his bloodstream, but what she finds instead is a new phone number saved under the long first name _I Watched A Sunset With You On A Pier And That Can’t Have Meant Nothing. Call Me ;)_

That clever bastard.

**april**

“Wait—really?”

Bobbi frowns. “What do you mean, _really_?”

“I don’t know, I just thought I’d be met with some more… resistance,” says Hill.

“It’s my firm belief that I work great alone, Deputy Director,” says Bobbi. “But if putting me into a team is what SHIELD wants, then I trust that decision.”

“Perfect,” Hill smiles, then hands her two files. “The both of them are already waiting in the next room. Whenever you’re ready. Right, I gotta go—Fury has me and Nat on recruit duty.” She walks off, putting her hair up into a ponytail.

 _Nat_. If Bobbi didn’t know about that ongoing thing with Barton and Romanoff, she would’ve assumed she and Hill were together. Saving that thought for later, she opens the first file. _Alphonso Mackenzie_ —she’d seen him around her facility and they’ve talked quite a few times. He’s a big man with a heart of gold, and will probably balance out her ruthlessness. She opens the next file—

Well, shit.

The first thing Mack says when she walks in is, “Hey, Morse, you’re gonna love this guy—”

“No, I’m not,” she sighs heavily, crossing her arms. “Lance Hunter. You’re alive. I told you you’d wake up fine.”

Hunter’s mouth is wide open in shock. Nice to know he didn’t read her file, that he walks in unprepared to any situation. “What the bloody hell are you doing here?”

“That’s easy. I work for SHIELD.”

“You work—but _I_ work—”

“Better get over it, and quickly. Apparently, we’ve been teamed up together.”

“I’ll—“ Mack struggles for words. “I’ll leave you two to resolve your business.” He walks out of the door, shaking his head.

Hunter looks at her a second longer. “You did get my number, didn’t you?”

“Wouldn’t be a very good spy if I missed it.”

“So…” he fidgets with his hands, and she knows he’s expecting to be rejected but risking it anyway. “Why didn’t you call?”

Bobbi considers letting him down gently, but something compels her to tell the truth for once. She shrugs, “I wasn’t ready.”

The knowing look in his eyes he gives her haunts her for the rest of the month.

**may**

“This must be so embarrassing for you,” Bobbi says under her breath, smirking as she hooks her hand around Hunter’s elbow. They enter the double doors of the ballroom together, the sun still dawdling in the sky outside—not too early or late. About half of the gala guests have arrived, an orchestra playing a piece and people dancing to it while they wait for the host to give a formal welcome announcement.

“I’ve had worse dates, Morse.”

“Cliché. I meant going undercover. Didn’t you say you hated spies the first time we met?”

“ _Hate_ is a strong word. Plus, just because I’m doing this one single mission doesn’t mean I’m enjoying it.”

This is, of course, a lie. Mostly, anyway—he’s not sure _enjoying_ would be how he’d describe it, but he does know the sight of Bobbi, with her hair dyed ~~a glowing tint of platinum~~ a few shades lighter and styled straight, in that floor-length red gown is making him feel something.

“For the love of God, please, _stop_ ,” Mack groans through their comms. “It’s a mission, not a comeback competition. The target’s already here. Three o’clock.” 

Hunter immediately whirls in that direction, and Bobbi pulls on the lapel of his suit jacket so he goes back to facing her. 

“Don’t—Jesus, now I know why you hate this job so much. Look, stay out of trouble. I’ll engage him.”

It takes Hunter a few seconds to fully register what she’s said ( _not_ because of the way she pulled him close). “Wait, what about me?”

“Just blend in; act natural. I’ll be back,” she says before sashaying away and pretending to bump into the target. She lets out a convincing embarrassed giggle and Hunter watches as she bats her eyelashes at him.

At the sudden lack of guidance, Hunter starts to panic before his eyes land on the bar. He orders a drink (ignoring Mack’s _no drinking on the job, Hunter_ ), feeling out of place in the sea of suits and ties and turning towards the dance floor where Bobbi and the target are swaying side to side together. Lucky for him, he doesn’t have to wait for long—Bobbi saunters back to him before he’s even finished his shot.

“Jealous, Lance?” she asks.

He scoffs. “Of him?”

They both turn to look at said target. A crowd of people have gathered around him, fawning over his new haircut and Armani suit and pocket-handkerchief, but in Hunter’s humble, honest opinion, its bright red clashes _terribly_ with his dark red tie. If anything, it just makes him look even more ridiculous—

Oh.

Bobbi turns back to Hunter. “Well, he seems to be doing better with the ladies than you.”

“That’s because he’s got money,” he replies defensively.

“That’s it,” comes Mack’s voice. “Next mission, I’m putting you on comms duty instead and I’ll bicker with Morse the entire time, let’s see how you’d like that.”

“Take it easy, big guy,” Bobbi says. “The mission’s over.”

“What?” says Mack, the same time Bobbi opens her fist to show Hunter the thumb drive she’s been hiding in it.

He blinks. “You got it.” 

“Yep.”

“We’ve been here, what, five minutes, and you _got_ the drive.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” she nods. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

“You’re—” he looks at the thumb drive, then back up at her face. “You’re remarkable.”

Bobbi smiles. “While I don’t deny that, this mission was fairly simple. I mean, it was right there in his pocket. We got lucky.”

“You mean you got lucky.”

“It won’t be long before he realises it’s missing. We should go.” She tugs on his arm, but he stays where he’s standing.

“Wait.”

Bobbi frowns in confusion as he disables his earpiece, but after a few seconds she reaches up and does the same without breaking eye contact.

“You didn’t—you didn’t have to do that,” he says.

“I trust you,” she says slowly.

“Well, I was just thinking—he’s been in contact with so many people; it’ll take him a while to figure out who it was. So… one dance?”

She stares. “Hunter, you could’ve just _asked_. You’re too dramatic for your own good, honestly.” She takes his hand and leads him out onto the floor, and they’re both laughing and she even bends down a little to rest her head on his shoulder. 

It’s all going good until the doors are kicked open and Mack bursts in with a huge gun in his hands, aiming it right at the crowd which has started to scream and run, leaving Bobbi and Hunter the only ones on the dance floor.

“WHAT THE HELL?” Mack yells at the sight of them, Hunter’s hand still on Bobbi’s waist. “I nearly had a heart attack and you two were _dancing_?”

“Oh, bloody hell,” Hunter curses. “Still think I’m the dramatic one, Bob?”

and i think about summer, all the beautiful times  
i watched you laughing from the passenger side  
and realised i loved you in the fall

**june**

Hunter whoops. “We did it,” he cries, throwing his arms open toward the sky as Bobbi gets into the passenger side of the convertible calmly. “Our first mission back, and we completely nailed it. I still can’t believe they kept us off the field for two entire weeks.”

“Be grateful it was only two,” says Bobbi, watching Hunter climb into the driver’s seat and igniting the engine with the key, their new key chain dangling off of it. “And don’t flatter yourself. It wasn’t even a mission, more like Fury took pity on us and sent us on a vacation with a minor task to complete.”

“You are the most frustrating person I’ve ever met, you know that?”

“Stop complaining about me, because that’s new, and start driving, idiot. I miss the wine in the cabinets at home.”

And he does. They drive through the streets of Macon, Georgia, leaving the saloon along with the moment they’d had in there behind. Hunter puts on Taylor Swift and sings along to every lyric with a surprisingly decent American accent. Bobbi listens to him half-scream _back before you lost the one real thing you’ve ever known_ and through the melancholic lyrics he smiles and starts laughing.

She’s vaguely aware of the warm wind messing her hair up, and yet all she can think of is how she’d take the music of Lance Hunter’s laughter over all the existing songs in the world any day. She thinks it sounds even sweeter when it’s meant for her.

——

Bobbi flops onto the couch with a half-full wine glass in her hand. “Don’t get me wrong, these past three days have been fun, but I’ve missed living in my own space and not slipping over socks thrown on the floor every few minutes.”

In truth, she hadn’t really minded. Not when she’d been waking up in the same bed as him, not when she’d learned that he hums little tunes all through the day, not when he casually calls her _sweetheart_ and _love_ without noticing the blush on her face, and certainly not when he’d smiled at her and taken her hand earlier that day at Franny’s Saloon.

Hunter sits down next to her. “You’re so uptight, and for what? Not everyone lives like you.”

“They should; the world would be a better place,” she half-jokes.

“Then finding you wouldn’t have been as special,” he says, and her heartbeat stutters, because she is truly in trouble now.

They’ve been leaning more and more towards each other, and he’s so close she’s scared to even breathe. “You think I’m special?” She teases in a whisper, eyes darting down to his lips.

He swallows. “Bobbi… when you didn’t call me, you said you weren’t ready then. Are you now?”

She answers his question by closing the short distance between them, and when his hands tangle in her hair to deepen the kiss, she’s reminded of the time she went skydiving as a teen: thrilling, exhilarating, unforgettable. Her blood thunders in her ears— _finally_ , something new and exciting and worth fighting for.

**july**

Hunter’s heart drops into his stomach when he returns from the car with the remaining packets of chips they’d bought on the way to the hotel and Bobbi’s nowhere to be seen on the picnic mat, making the sunscreen and baskets of food on it seem lonely. He looks around wildly for five seconds before finally spotting her down the beach where the cool waves meet the sand, running and splashing around with a kid that looks around five or six. 

Or seven. Hunter knows nothing about children.

He sets the chips on the mat and runs towards her, waving his arms. “You scared me, Bob!” He says when he reaches her side.

“Well, sorry about that. Henry and I were having fun. Isn’t that right, Henry?”

Henry asks, “Is he your boyfriend?”

“Um… sure,” Bobbi shrugs.

“Why is he British?”

Hunter’s about to snap at him when Bobbi explains ever so patiently, “Well, he moved to America and we met there.”

Just then, Henry’s mother comes rushing down the beach. He runs to her and she gathers him up in her arms, turning towards Bobbi.

“Thank you so much, Miss Barbara. I had to run a quick errand for Henry’s uncle and I got back as fast as I could. I’m so sorry for bothering you.”

“Oh no, of course! It’s been so fun. Henry’s a delight.”

“You’re very kind, Miss,” she smiles before putting Henry down and walking back up the beach.

Hunter watches Bobbi wave when they turn around before disappearing completely, then says, “I got the chips.”

“Perfect,” she grins, and bounds back up to their mat.

Later, when they’re approximately three packets in and the tide has closed in like a shadow of the sunset, he remarks, “You’re good with kids.”

She perks up at that, a hopeful glint in her eye. “You think so?”

“Yeah. Surprising for someone who beats baddies with batons five days a week.”

She leans in and kisses him sweetly, tasting like seawater and lilies and brightly coloured popsicles. 

That night, when she’s asleep in their hotel room with the windows open to let in the occasional Rio summer breeze, he sneaks out into the streets and buys the ring.

**august**

She’s panting and sweating when they finally reach the top of the winding stairs, but it’s worth it when she catches sight of the sunset.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathes. The gold in the sky blends perfectly with the cotton-like wisps of clouds, the sun disappearing beneath the glittering ocean horizon, but _Hunter_ , with his messed-up hair and the proud expression on his face as he’s looking at her, is somehow even more stunning, his emanating glow more blinding than any star that’s ever existed.

Hunter says, “You’re beautiful.”

Bobbi hopes the orange light cast from the sunset’s enough to hide her blush. She’s never been one to be bothered by heights, but to tell the truth, she’s a bit intimidated when looking down. She feels like she’s not on top of the lighthouse, but rather the big, wide, scary world, and nothing can burst her bubble, nothing can shatter the glass separating this glorious moment from her responsibilities, her tasks, reality.

She points at a flock of birds and turns towards Hunter to see his reaction, but what she finds instead is Hunter down on one knee, looking up at her like she’s the most magnificent miracle he’s ever witnessed.

but then the cold came  
the dark days when fear crept into my mind

**september**

“It’s been three minutes,” she says incredulously, staring at her ringing phone. Hunter’s shoulders fall slightly, his joke interrupted. “I’m so sorry, babe. I gotta take this,” she says as she excuses herself from the round table.

Hunter recomposes himself quickly. “It’s all good, love. Just don’t go into the room right opposite the banquet hall we’re in. I thought it was the washroom. It’s a supply closet, and I walked in on that blond archer guy snogging a red-haired girl.”

“Really? Barton finally made a move?” Bobbi glances to Natasha and Clint’s table. Sure enough, the seats are empty. 

“Just go. Take your call. Your speech isn’t in—” he checks his watch— “seventeen minutes.”

She plants a quick kiss on his cheek, then stumbles out of the hall and into the hallway, nearly tripping over her grand dress, and slides along her screen to answer the call.

“This is Agent Morse—”

“We need you to come in,” says Sitwell over the phone. “Now.”

She’s silent for a few seconds. “This is my day off.”

“I can arrange more, extra days off. After this operation.”

“Sir, I just got _married_.”

“Congratulations,” he says indifferently. “We’ve already sent a car to the venue to pick you up, along with a change of clothes. I trust you have your weapons with you?”

“Yeah, I’ve got two guns strapped to—that’s not the point. Can’t someone else take this one?”

“Do you know what it took to convince the Director to send everything your way? You’re wasting SHIELD resources, Agent Morse. In other words, this isn’t a request. I’m notifying you that you will be coming in. The car will arrive in about ten minutes.”

The line clicks off. Bobbi takes a few steps back until her back rests against the wall.

Just then, the door opposite her creaks open, and a giggling short girl in a silver dress steps out, stopping abruptly when she sees Bobbi.

“Oh,” Natasha says. “Hi.”

Natasha. Natasha, with a similar skillset to Bobbi’s, probably even more skilled than her in every aspect. Natasha could take the operation.

“Romanoff,” Bobbi says, desperation starting to burn in her stomach. “Romanoff, could I ask you for—”

The door creaks open a bit more to reveal Clint Barton with ruffled hair and his tie undone, looking rather sheepish. _Right._

“Hi,” he says. “Natasha and I were just—uh—”

Natasha elbows Clint in the ribs and says, “What were you going to ask me?”

“No, it’s okay,” Bobbi hears herself say. “You two, enjoy yourselves.”

“Awesome,” Clint grins. “I bet the chocolate fountain is amazing. Come on, Nat.” He tugs her into the banquet hall by her hand, and they disappear into the double doors with one last concerned look from Natasha.

Perfect. Just what she needs on her wedding night. She sinks to the carpeted floor, no longer worried about ruining her dress. Hunter rushes out of the doors around a minute later, looking around in a frenzy before spotting her on the floor. He kneels in front of her and cups her face with his hands.

“Hey, love. What’s wrong?”

“They want me to come in. Actually, no—I am coming in. They’ve already sent a car and everything.”

He takes a moment to process this, then sighs, “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” she argues. “It’s our wedding day. We’re supposed to have a honeymoon. I mean—” she gestures around. “Look at all this. We booked out an entire castle.

“And it’s just—I mean—I can’t even commit to one day. What if—” she’s rambling now, tears coming to her eyes. “What if I mess this whole thing up?”

“You won’t,” promises Hunter. “Hey, hey—it’s okay.” He wraps his arms around Bobbi, and they stay like this together until a pair of headlights are shining in through the windows. Hunter wipes her tears away, taking care not to smudge her mascara, and sends her off with a kiss. “Don’t die out there, alright?”

As she’s changing in the car, she thinks to herself, _shouldn’t he have tried harder?_

**october**

“Hunter, help me set the table.”

Hunter groans and blinks blearily. He sits up on the couch, noting how Bobbi had turned off the football game sometime after he’d fallen asleep. “I’m tired.”

Bobbi hurries around the living room, retrieving plates and cutlery from her immaculate drawer system that Hunter can only dream about understanding. “I can see that. Get up.”

“Just—five more minutes.”

“Dinner is in five minutes.”

“Tea,” he corrects. “Mum always used to call it tea.”

She stops and puts her hands on her hips. “Well, _tea_ is not going to prepare itself, so if you could just stop being lazy—”

“I'm not being lazy,” he scoffs defensively.

“Call it what you will, but this is the sixth time I’ve had to set the table on my own.”

“I did it all by myself the other day.”

“That was two weeks ago. I was on a mission.”

“And I welcomed you home with a perfectly made table!” He’s sitting upright on the couch now.

“Oh, please. The only thing you welcomed me back with were complaints about how late I was, and you were waiting for me the whole time, and you were _starving_ —” She rolls her eyes.

“Alright, I’m coming,” he relents, and stands from the couch. They eat the entirety of dinner ( _tea_ , Hunter reminds himself, he refuses to let Bobbi brainwash him with her American shenanigans) in silence, and when he’s done he gets up to leave.

“Where are you going?” Bobbi says, still seated.

“Oh—I didn’t know you wanted me to stay,” Hunter splutters.

“So you’re leaving me to do the dishes again? For the seventh—”

“Will you stop counting,” he exclaims rather than asks. “You’re so organised, it’s driving me mad.”

“Being over-organised is way better than being the human equivalent of everything Marie Kondo throws away. Leaving dirty laundry sprawled on the floor does not spark joy, Hunter.”

“Are you calling me messy?”

“I’m not calling you messy, I’m calling you a trash can.”

“Oh, that is _low_ , Morse—”

“Is it? Is it really? Look around, you’ve turned our new home, something that was supposed to be perfect, into a raccoon’s nest!”

“Come on, what did you expect from me, love?”

“I don’t know,” she answers. “Something. Anything. You’re not putting any effort into this, Hunter, and it shows.”

He’s silent for a few seconds after he realises with a jolt that she’s right. He’s only ever wanted this for the high. He never signed up for staying up to file joint taxes, or taking out the rubbish, or setting the table. He eventually asks, “What are you not telling me?”

She stares at him silently.

He continues, “Because you can’t possibly blame me for all of it. Don’t even try to pretend you haven’t been keeping secrets.” He knows, knows from the scowl she wears whenever she comes home, knows from how some nights she doesn’t even say a single word to him. Or maybe she’s already gotten tired of him.

“Keeping secrets is part of the job,” she says slowly, dangerously. “Or do you want me to land myself in danger, or be compromised? You knew that when you married me. You knew what you’d be dealing with.”

“Maybe I didn’t,” he says without thinking, a frantic rebuttal.

“Hunter,” she says, shocked. “For God’s sake, it’s only been a month.”

That snaps him out of it, and he exhales. “Oh. Bobbi, I—I didn’t mean it like that—I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” she says quieter, and pulls him into a hug after only two seconds of hesitation.

For now, Hunter just closes his eyes and familiarises himself with Bobbi’s scent.

**november**

“Lance Hunter,” she says, emphasising every syllable of his name.

Hunter freezes at the door.

“Where have you been?” she asks, voice shaking in the dark, barely able to contain her anger.

“With the boys,” he replies awkwardly.

“It is _two in the morning_!” she yells, and he flinches. “You didn’t tell me you were going out before this. You didn’t answer my texts, you didn’t pick up my calls.”

“I don’t have to tell you everything I do,” he tries to justify.

“This is serious, Hunter. Our line of work is dangerous. You can’t come home at an ungodly hour and expect me to react calmly.”

“So you admit it, you’re not being rational?”

“You have no right to even try and turn this on me! You are in the wrong here, Hunter.”

He sighs, “You could’ve just gone to sleep.” He hangs up his jacket and walks into the living room, only turning when she responds.

“Gone to sleep? I really don’t think you understand what being a good partner means.”

“Yeah, for better, for worse,” he quotes bitterly. “You’re not exactly supporting me right now.”

“Hunter, I will always support you,” she says, and hates how it’s true. “But I just don’t support the actions that you’re doing—I don’t deserve to be treated this way, to be sidelined. We’re supposed to be dedicating our lives to each other—”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” he mocks, “is this not working for you?”

She says, deathly silent, “Maybe it isn’t.”

For a split second, he reaches out to her, but the moment passes and he lets his arm fall. “Bobbi—”

She takes a step back. “Don’t.”

you gave me all your love  
and all i gave you was goodbye

**december**

Hunter looks up from staring at his hands clasped around his beer bottle when Bobbi approaches him.

“Hey,” he initiates. “Hey, I was just thinking… you know, we haven’t gone out together in a while. Maybe we should do that? Like, dinner, or even just coffee is fine—”

Bobbi slaps a thin stack of paper onto the coffee table without a word. Hunter’s heart drops when he catches sight of the words **Petition for Divorce** and Bobbi’s name under _Plaintiff_ among many, many other words he doesn’t understand.

“Bobbi.” He raises his head to meet her gaze.

She says nothing; just crosses her arms.

“Look, I—I screwed up, okay? Totally, utterly screwed it all up. And—”

“Yeah. Yes, you did,” she replies coldly.

He sighs. “I’ll try better. I promise, Bob, please, just—we don’t have to—”

Her face is less cruel when she says, “It’s best for the both of us, Hunter.” Almost like she’s trying to convince herself too.

“Bobbi, I don’t—I don’t know who I am without you.”

“Don’t you see, Lance? That’s exactly the problem.” She sits down on the couch beside him. “I don’t either. And that’s not how it’s supposed to be. I’ve completely forgotten who I was before I met you. I need time, and I need space, to… rediscover myself.”

Hunter watches numbly as she takes off her ring and places it on the table, on top of the divorce papers. _Divorce papers_.

“I’ve already asked Maria to separate us as partners in SHIELD. We’ll likely be deployed in different places from now on.”

Her expression softens, becomes something gentler. “I don’t hate you, Hunter. And I hope, after the inevitable storm of paperwork this will bring, that I’ll see you again someday. Maybe.”

She leans forward to kiss his cheek. He feels a part of himself die when he watches her walk away.

the end

(or…?)

so this is me swallowing my pride  
standing in front of you saying _i’m sorry for that night_  
and i go back to december all the time

**the day shield fell, 2014**

“An opportunity to kill more of these bastards?” Isabelle cocks her gun, and damn it if it doesn’t make Bobbi admire her even more.

“I love your whole thing. You know that?” She says, because if they’re going to die tonight then at least Isabelle will know how much she appreciates her. “Hold out for them as long as you can. They’ll be right behind you.”

What the hell. She’s got nothing to lose, right?

“And, um, would you mind…” She looks down, and through the dirt caked under her nails and the blood on her hands, the words FRANNY’S SALOON stand out on the keychain as always. “Could you give this to Hunter?” She holds it out to Isabelle.

“Bobbi,” Isabelle says, and it’s clear she understands how personal this request is.

She looks back at her unwavering, with maybe a hint of some kind of plea in her eyes. Isabelle takes it in one swift motion.

“He’s gonna be pissed, you know that?”

She feels a smile take over her face, stops it from spreading and then nods once. “Yeah.”

She watches Isabelle leave with a little symbol of their love clutched tightly in her hand like how she knows Hunter had watched her leave all those months ago. It feels like centuries, and she definitely doesn’t feel good about breaking his heart, but if she could just see him again before going down with the ship, she’d tell him that she regrets nothing, that their love had been one of the greatest things she’d ever experienced in her life.

it turns out freedom ain’t nothing but missing you  
wishing i’d realised what i had when you were mine  
i’d go back to december, turn around and change my own mind  
i go back to december all the time

**Author's Note:**

> you may have noticed sunsets were a recurring theme in this fic, and that wasn't just for the aesthetic!! a sunset is almost always over just a few minutes after it starts.
> 
> but god, it's so beautiful while it lasts.
> 
> [i hope you enjoyed that :)](https://cheree.carrd.co)


End file.
